The Scapegoat
by Jack Of Some Trades
Summary: Sequel to I Hate Winter. When even Capsule Corporation can't afford to feed and house him, what is the Saiyan Prince to do?


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Disclaimer: There exist a plethora of alternate universes, in which an infinite amount of possibilities are available. Go look at one of those, maybe I own this there. Watch out for the ones where we've been enslaved by space squirrels, though. Life is a bitch over there.

"Woman!" I yelled. I smirked slightly when I realised what an echo it made through the halls of the Capsule Corporation. "Woman!"

"First," the blue haired human started, walking in, "I have a name. Second, what?"

"Woman, we have no food. I need food. You are to buy food NOW," I explained as simply as I could.

"Again? Vegeta, this is the third time this week you ate all our food!" the Woman complained loudly. I rolled my eyes as she continued. "You eat all the food and destroy the Gravity Room constantly, and that costs a lot!"

"The more you talk, Woman, the less I eat. Now go to the… food purchase station and buy some!"

"It's called a grocery, Vegeta. The food store is called a grocery. And get your own food, I'm done with it." With that, she walked away from me, muttering to herself. I could have heard it had I cared, but my stomach took precedence over my ears.

"Get my own food? How am I supposed to do that, I have no money!" I yelled after her. She merely dismissed it with a wave of the hand.

"Get a job."

"Woman, I have no time for a job! I have to train to defeat Ka—to defeat the androids!" Damned slip of the tongue. Not that it really mattered; only a fool would think that the androids were my only desired prey.

"Well, you don't train all day long," she pointed out. "I have watched… er… seen you." Her face turned slightly pink, whatever that meant. Perhaps she felt ill; stupid Woman never does anything healthy for herself unless someone makes her. "Get a part time job at night or something."

I considered this. It was obvious that she wasn't going to let up any time soon, and purchasing my own food from this grocery… thing… interested me. I could get more meat and less of the vegetables and fruits that the Woman and the Old Woman seemed so fond of.

"… and I'll help you," the Woman finished. I realised she'd been talking for some time, and I hadn't been listening. Not that I ever do.

"Fine, whatever," I said distractedly.

"Great! We'll look tonight!" she said, running off to do whatever she does when I'm not looking at her. I shook my head, wondering what the Hell I'd got myself into.

~*~

I eventually solved my food problems by hunting down one of those big lizard things that run around. It was a bit tough, and tasting a bit like chicken. And the hunt was good training, which I would apparently be lacking in soon.

At any rate, the Woman was sitting at the table (looking hungry, I might add, that's what she gets for not buying me food) with her newspaper open in front of her. She looked up as I walked in and looked in the refrigerator. "Woman, you still haven't purchased food!" I snapped. It was empty except for a box of smelly white powder and an amount of alcohol, likely belonging to the Weakling.

"I told you, I'm done buying your food. Now come over here so we can look through the want ads," she replied, twisting one finger through her blue hair. Briefly (no pun intended), I wondered if _all_ her hair was blue, but I pushed those thoughts out of my mind. "Vegeta!"

"Fine, Woman, I'm coming." I walked over and pointed at some random job opportunity. "I shall do that."

She looked to where I was pointing and read it aloud. "'Exotic Dancer Wanted: Must Be Over Eighteen.' Vegeta, I don't think you want that one."

I snorted. "Perhaps you're right. I don't want to be paid for dancing around like that baka Ginyu." She winced at the mention of the former holder of her body, and I continued. "You pick something out. I don't care."

"Um…" she muttered as she ran flipped through the advertisements. "Most of these require some degree of people skills… Maybe this'd be easier if you told me your credentials, Vegeta." I gave her a blank stare, and she explained. "What you have to offer to the people hiring you."

"I am the Prince of All Saiyans," I responded instantly. That was simple enough, who wouldn't want the Prince of the most powerful race in existence, even if its numbers had dwindled to two and a half?

"I mean education or former jobs, Vegeta. Dropping the name of a nearly dead race won't help you."

"Former jobs? Education?"

"Well, yeah. What were you doing before working for Frieza?" she elaborated.

"I was being trained to be the King of All Saiyans. That was cut short when _someone_ destroyed my home." She turned red, and I assume that meant she got the point.

"Well, that will make it more of a challenge to get you hired, but I do love a challenge!" she exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow. "Never mind. Ugh, this is hard work. Go get me that bottle of wine from the refrigerator."

I raised my eyebrow even higher. "Woman, who the Hell do you think you're talking to?"

She sighed and rubbed her hair, muttering to herself. "Do it now and I'll order pizza when we're done." I was at the refrigerator looking through the bottles before she finished the sentence.

"Which bottle, Woman?" I asked. She hadn't specified, and there were at least five.

"The—" here she rattled off something French sounding—"'88." Shaking my head, I grabbed the nearest bottle with two consecutive eights on it and pulled it out. Pulling a glass from the rack above the stove, I tossed both the bottle and the glass across the room, both of which landed with barely a "clink".

The Woman stared wide-eyed at me. "How did you do that?" she sputtered.

I shrugged slightly. "Frieza drank a lot of wine from the planets he conquered," I explained. "Whenever I found one on a new planet, I served it to him." I sneered slightly at the memory. If Kakarot had done one respectable thing in all of his life, it was destroying Frieza.

I'm not sure the Woman was listening anymore. She was reading the newspaper again, searching quickly through the "want ads". "Vegeta, I think I found you a job," she eventually said. "Tell me, how would you feel about a job in which you worked mostly at night, dealt with people too lost to remember your name, and threw people around just for pissing you off?"

"Sounds like working with your Weakling. What's this job?"

She grinned in an odd way. If I had to define it, I'll call it mischievous. "You're going to be a bartender."

"Hmm." I went into the other room and came back with the cordless phone. "Twenty-six pizzas. No anchovies."

~*~

This "bar", as she told me I was to tend to, was located in a run-down area of the city. There were women dressed in tight clothes on most of the street corners, and dimly lit signs advertising the dancers that the Woman talked me out of becoming.

"Eww. Not the right side of the tracks, he?" the Woman said as she stopped her car in front of the establishment. It had a sign above it saying "The Scapegoat".

I looked around the building. "I see no tracks anywhere, Woman. What are you talking about?"

She sighed. "Never mind. And be nice to the manager. What are you not going to call him?"

I repeated the list of forbidden words the Woman made me memorize. After I finished going through every insult in every language I knew, she dragged me inside. "I still object to this, by the way," I pointed out. My plea fell on deaf ears as she shoved me in the door.

"Just a reminder: be nice."

**__**

To be continued…

I've had some questions come up as to the terms I use in my DBZ fics. This is part of a series, a saga if you will, told from Vegeta's point of view. Thus, the characters would be seen as Vegeta sees them. Here is a short non-complete list of words:

Cue-Ball: Krillin

Harpy: Chi-Chi

Kakarot: Goku

Kakarot's Brat: Gohan

Old Man: Dr Briefs

Old Woman: Mrs Briefs

Turtle Pervert: Master Roshi

Weakling: Yamcha

Woman: Bulma

Any other characters I miss will be addressed as the need arises. Also, the term "Bitch" may also be used to describe Chi-Chi; it'll depend upon whom he's talking to and in what context.


End file.
